


Yours

by Trin303



Series: Kinktober 2020 [22]
Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Bukkake, F/M, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:49:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27176800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trin303/pseuds/Trin303
Summary: Kinktober 2020Prompt: BukkakeHelen knows better than to egg on the Boogeyman, but sometimes, it's for his own good.
Relationships: Helen Wick/John Wick
Series: Kinktober 2020 [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962415
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Yours

John Wick was a possessive man.

Who knew?

John certainly didn’t. It surprised even him when he saw Helen dancing with the groomsman at her cousin’s wedding. He understood that she needed to dance at least once with the groomsman she had been paired with. He knew that she wasn’t remotely attracted to the scrawny man she had been paired with. He knew that Helen didn’t want anyone but him.

But jealousy filled him at the sight.

The rest of the night, he had kept her close to his side.

Helen, to her credit, seemed to be able to sense the stress that was rolling off of him in waves. She held him close when they danced together and held his hand when they weren’t. She kept a hand on him at all time. A hand on his thigh while they ate or a head on his shoulder while they stood side-by-side.

She made excuses about a headache just after the cake was cut and brought John back upstairs to their room.

As soon as they made it upstairs, Helen examined him carefully. “Talk to me, John.”

And she has to say it because he won’t say anything without prompting. He wouldn’t even consider complaining or putting it on her how much seeing her with someone else, however platonic, made his insides twist.

“I didn’t like seeing you dancing.”

“I didn’t know the boogeyman got jealous.” She comments and that’s all it is. A comment. There is no scathing criticism coming off of her words. It’s face value and that’s what he loves about Helen.

“Neither did I.” John admits and Helen wraps her arms around him in a hug.

“I love you, John. Only you. No one else.”

And something clicks. A tiny epiphany.

Yes, the man Helen danced with was scrawny and John could beat the crap out of him without breaking a sweat, but he was also a lawyer. Well-educated. A job that allowed for a family, a job that didn’t involve killing others and risking your own life on a daily basis.

It wasn’t jealousy that another man had danced with her.

It was utter envy that that stupid groomsman could give her a life that he never could.

“You deserve so much better.” He finds himself saying and Helen pushes back.

“John…”

They’ve talked about this. He’s told her this before, he’s told her that he’s no good and that she should walk away. And she’s told him just as many times that she is all in. That she’s not leaving, not walking away.

It never seems to stick and that just breaks her heart.

Because she knows that John has spent his entire life alone. That the very idea of having someone choose him, love him, stay by his side is so completely foreign to him that he cannot fathom it.

It stung, at first, when she still viewed it as a lack of trust. That maybe John just didnt’ trust her to keep her word, to stay by him.

But it wasn’t about her, which she quickly was able to piece together. This was abandonment at birth, followed by years of training to be nothing but a weapon, a tool. Followed by years on the run, on the road. The only stability he had was in the Marines and the military wasn’t exactly known for their gentle hand.

No, it wasn’t about her.

But everything within Helen wanted to fix this.

“What will it take?” She asks, desperately, “What will it take for you to understand that you are it for me?” She places her hands on his head, forcing him to look at her, “I don’t want anyone else. I don’t care about should’s. I don’t care about deserve’s. I just want you, John.”

And, Christ, her beautiful assassin is so broken, she wonders if she’ll ever be able to fill those cracks with gold.

But she won’t stop.

She can’t stop.

John doesn’t answer. There is no answer to her quandary. As if John wouldn’t fix this if he could.

She’s spent so long reassuring him that she’ll never leave. But it never seems to stick. It seems almost cruel, but she tries a different tactic.

“Maybe you’re right.” She says, thoughtfully, taking a small bit of delight in the dark way that his eyes flash, “Maybe I should go back downstairs and talk to Matthew. Let  _ him _ take me back to his room and--”

Before she can finish her thought, John moves in a way that only he can. Helen finds herself pressed into the wall. That softness she associates with John is pushed to the back and she finds herself staring into the eyes of someone darker. Harsher.

John has always been hers.

But John has always kept her from his darker side.

Baba Yaga. The monster, always out of reach.

Now he stands before her, a tight bundle of rage and, for a moment, she wonders if she went too far.

“I’ll kill him.”

“You won’t.” Helen says softly, staring the Boogeyman in the eye without flinching. “Because I’m here. With you.”

The darkness in his eyes fades slightly but it is still there.

“You’re mine.” He tells her.

“Then prove it.”

In the space of an instant, her dress is torn off her and pools on the floor. Helen feels herself lifted and tossed and she lands with a bounce on the bed. John rips his tie off his neck and he climbs on top of her. John grabs her hands and binds them together before pulling her up the bed and towards the headboard. He loops it through a post, tightening his tie as he does.

And Helen, she knows better than to speak when he’s like this.

He undresseses quickly and kneels over her stomach. He takes his cock in hand and looks down at her.

“You’re mine.”

Helen nods.

“Say it.” He hisses.

“I’m yours, John.”

“Keep saying it.”

Helen bites her lip and nods, “I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m yours.”

“Don’t fucking stop.” He tells her, pumping his dick in his hand.

“I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m yours.” She wiggles her hips, her pussy clenching around emptiness as she watches John continue to stroke his length. “I’m yours. I’m yours.”

“All night.” John tells her, rubbing his thumb over the head of his cock, “I want you to keep saying it until you can’t fucking speak anymore.”

“I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m yours.”

Her breath stutters as she keeps repeating it, watching John speed up his pumps before he grunts and thick, white stripes shoot out landing on her stomach and tits.

Helen shudders a breath, “John, please…”

John leans forward, careful not to disturb his cum, and grabs her face in one hand, squeezing her cheeks. 

“That’s one hour.”

“What?”

“That’s two.” John teases and there is a dark edge to his voice that has her worried that she has seriously fucked up. “I don’t recall telling you that you could stop saying that you’re mine.”

“I’m sorry--”

" _ Three _ ." He says unsympathetically, "I suggest your start saying it because the clock is now at three hours of me marking you with my cum without giving you any release."

"But-"

" _ Four _ ."

"Im yours." She says quickly, "I'm yours. I'm yours. I'm yours. I'm yours."

"Damn fucking right." John growls, idly touching himself, trying to bring back the hardness.

It had thrown Helen, at first. John’s refractory period was ridiculous. She’d teased him, comparing him to a teenage boy with how quickly he could go from 60 to 0 to 60 again in virtually not time at all.

It was no joke. He came on her tits again. And again, before moving to her face.

When his dick needed lubrication, he teased her pussy, soaking his own hand in her juices, but never letting her come.

The first time he teased her clit, she stumbled over the words and stopped her precious chant.

He added an hour and she looked like she might cry in desperation.

She looked like a dirty angel and he told her as much, listening to her pretty little chant of, "im yours. I'm yours. I'm yours" as her voice became hoarse and needy. An hour passed and he came again on her tits. On her stomach. A few times on her pussy, her thighs. 

He alternated between leaving the white sticky mess in place and massaging it into her skin, coating her in his scent as she repeated the promise.

By hour three, he took pity on her sore throat and let her drink his cum down, before making her go back to the chant.

Hour four had her barely conscious, sleep weighing in her eyes, but she didn’t stop the chant. His good girl. He rewarded her with two fingers inside her as he pumped his cock. He made sure she felt good, even if he withheld the orgasm she so desperately craved.

And it woke her up, driving her back to the edge again and again.

He let her drink from his cock again, allowing her a moment of reprieve while she sucked on his cock, but the moment it was removed from her mouth, she continued.

“I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m yours.”

She was such a good girl and he told her as much. And she was so fucking gorgeous marked in his cum, in his scent. She was dripping in his fluids.

He let up twenty minutes early, as exhaustion began to settle in over himself. He positioned himself over her body and drove his dick inside her. That, alone, was nearly enough to make her buckle in pleasure.

She didn’t stop. 

“I’m yours. I’m yours! I’m yours!” It got louder and faster with every pump inside of her and John reveled in the feeling of her body beneath him, absolutely soaked in his cum.

She came with a loud cry, screaming out that she was his and John hissed  _ “Mine _ .” as he spilled inside of her before collapsing, in both relief and exhaustion onto her body.

He closes his eyes to rest and smiles as Helen can’t seem to stop her chant.

“I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m yours.”


End file.
